


Like A Dying Star

by plinys



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Agents of SHIELD Big Bang, Alternate Universe - Aliens, Alternate Universe - Fusion, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-17 00:20:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2290046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The 084 is known throughout the galaxy as a weapon of mass destruction, but when she happens to crash land on earth and get picked up by a scientist, known as Jemma Simmons, she learns that there is more to life than just being a living weapon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like A Dying Star

**Author's Note:**

> Aww, so this is my AoS Big Bang (round 2) fic! 
> 
> While I had been in the middle of trying to figure out what I was going to write an anon over on tumblr (special shout out for this person) requested a Lilo and Stitch au. I first thought it was the weirdest (but also neatest) idea ever, began to make posts about actually how funny that would be with Skye being experiment "084" rather than "626". And then somehow it turned into this giant fic monster. I still have no clue who requested this fic, but whoever you are, sorry it took so long to fill it, but hey, at least instead of getting a drabble you got to be my big bang fic! So that's kinda exciting, yeah?
> 
> Special thanks also goes out to the number of people that looked this fic over during its various stages of progress/who let me bounce my ideas off of you until something made sense. (stg I had a master list with all of your tumblr urls somewhere so I could give shout outs here, but I cannot find that doc for the life of me, so I'll have to update this with the specifics later). However, since the final set of eyes to look over the fic were mine, any mistakes here are totally my fault and I super apologize for this.
> 
> Much of this story takes place on a fictional island of the coast of Rhode Island. Don't think too hard about that.
> 
> And more importantly check out this  art , made by varjohaltija, which looks amazing! (Though contains slight spoilers for the story!)

John Garrett likes to think that he was a patient man.

In this line of business he has to be.

However, there are moments where even his patience can be tested, and _this_ is one of them.

He had come in there for a quick hand off of sorts.

Garrett had been running low on funds, something their good friend here was never short of, and in return had offered his latest acquisition.

Normally had he possessed something as _interesting_ as this he might have kept it around longer, let one of his scientists take it apart and put it back together again, but this was not something he wanted in his possession any longer then necessary.

Some said it was cursed, but he wasn’t the type to believe rumors.

Though he was most certainly the type to quickly sell something that might be cursed, if only for fear that it would lose value when the rumor reached other parts of the galaxy.

Which he was beginning to worry was happening right before his eyes as their discussion continued to drag on.

On the other side of the room stood the master of this particular Space Station, Ian Quinn, a man whose face is plastered through the galaxy, whether on the billboards proclaiming him to be a someone of importance or wanted signs asking for his head. Technically Quinn hadn’t done half of what he’s accused of, he just likes to stir the pot, push people in the right direction, and then hire others to do his dirty work. It’s a system that has worked out very well for him so far and is the reason that they’re having this very conversation.

To his side is a young woman who has looked up from her computer screen a total of four times, never seeming particularly pleased about what she is seeing, before turning back to intently taking notes – or whatever it is that she’s doing.

Garrett had ruled her out as insignificant the second they walked in, just a pretty little assistant in a flower dress, nothing too noteworthy.

Garrett had an assistant of his own, a protégé if anybody asked, but in truth he was just somebody that could look threatening when Garrett needed him to.

Ward was particularly useful in that aspect, though not very useful in many others. He was eager to prove himself, eager to make a name for himself and that often led to him being more trouble that Garrett cared for, but always did like the idea of having a legacy himself, so he kept the _kid_ around.

“One last question,” Quinn says, in the same high and mighty tone that he has used throughout their entire negotiations, “is this one better than the last thing you sold me? The Cyborg – oh what’s was his name-“

“Deathlok,” Ward supplies.

“Ah yes, that’s right,” Quinn replies, “and is it?”

Garrett adjusts the collar of his shirt, making certain that it is still propped high up on his neck before responding to Quinn’s question, “yes, it’s better than Deathlok.”

That seems to please Quinn, because he’s nodding along after that, and this could be their sale.

All he had to do now was shake some hands and they’d be settled.

Then he’d be free of _it_.

Or he would have been had Quinn’s little assistant not chosen that moment to speak up.

“Did you make it,” she asks, her dark eyes scrutinizing him, “the 084, it’s one of your creations?”

And there was the one question he had been hoping to avoid.

He plasters on the most charming smile he can manage, the one perfected from years and years of working in sales, and says, “not exactly, Flowers.”

“What do you mean by that,” Quinn asks.

“Let’s just say, this one’s not something that could be so easily made.”

\---

The 084 been in a the cell for approximately three days, if her internal clock was anything to go by, and already she had figured out fourteen possible ways to escape.

Six that could possibly result in minor injury.

Five of which she could do without anybody noticing.

Three that involved the person currently standing guard and an air duct down the hall.

And one that would result in lots of explosions.

She liked to pretend that she was still weighing her options, but the 084 hadn’t been designed to quietly slip away with minimal damage.

Mass destruction was in her very essence, the one thing that drove almost all of her thoughts and actions. Plus there was just something so entertaining about mass hysteria.

Currently though she was talking to her guard through the wall of her cell, guiding him through the delicate process of how to hack into the wall panel and let her out.

He had been very willing with information lately, more so than any of the other guards, and spent much of his time talking about a group of revolutionaries that he was leading.

When she had faked interest in his case, insisted that if he helped her escape she would join them, he had been more than willing to help.

The fact that she never intended to join his group was just something she had failed to mention.  

“Thank you,” she says when the door finally springs open. She searches for something to refer to him and settles finally on the badge on the corner of his uniform, “Mr. Lydon.”

“Miles, is fine,” he tells her.

“Miles it is then.”

“You don’t really look like a monster, you know that?”

She clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth, “and what’s a monster supposed to look like?”

“Less hot,” he offers, with a little smirk that he probably used on many others before.

It must work for him normally, because her lack of reaction causes him to deflate slightly, though he recovers with alarming speed and says, “it doesn’t matter – we should get out of here.”

She nods her head again, quickly glancing around the hallway to look for possible outs; the air duct is a few feet from them. With her enhanced reflexes she’ll be able to hop up towards it, open it, and slide in before Miles could even realize what was happening.

Though where was the fun in that?

Speaking of fun, she tilted her head to the side, listening to the barely notable buzz that came right before an alarm began to blare.

Miles, who had been in the middle of explaining an escape plan that she had been completely ignoring, paled as soon as the alarm sounded.

“We need to-“ he started to say, but she never got to hear the end of his sentence, before a phaser had flashed from somewhere and then next thing she knew he was on the ground. She had a very strong hunch that those phasers hadn’t been set to stun.

“Ouch, that’s gotta hurt,” she says her voice dry crackling over the space around her.

As more phasers flash, all missing her, everything seems to shut down at once – the programming or whatever it is that controls her motivations take over at once, any other thought or emotion flees from her mind, and the only clear thought she has is to destroy and take no prisoners.

Somewhere in the back of her mind a second though rings out, screaming at her to escape, but there will be time for that later.

\---

The sound of an alarm going off is not a sound that he is unfamiliar with.

Ward would cite a terrible childhood if anybody asked for his familiarity with security alarms, it was easier than citing his various prison breaks and accidental arson attempts.

Not that anybody ever actually asked.

His familiarity with alarms was the one thing that stopped him from flinching when it went off, interrupting their yet ongoing sales pitch.

By the time some guard has appeared to inform them that the 084 had escaped, he had already been moving across the room phaser drawn.

“Ward, don’t kill it, I still want to sell the damned thing,” Garrett calls after him.

“Understood,” Ward says, switching his phasers setting from kill to stun, before heading down the hallways following the obviously idiotic guard.

Where Quinn actually managed to find people so completely idiotic truly amazed him.  

“The 084 has moved to the hanger,” the guard reads out from the display on his wrist.

“I thought you said it was in the central,” he snaps, realizing that the two rooms mentioned are on completely different floors, and the exact opposite direction of where he was heading.

“It was.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No sir, if you’ll look at the display here-“

He doesn’t need to look at the display to know what’s happening, not when another alarm goes off through the station alerting them that an air duct has been opened.

Still, he makes a break for the hanger, already knowing in the back of his mind that by the time they get there, the 084 will already be long gone. Knowing that doesn’t stop him from being disappointed when his prediction turns out to be accurate.

There’s a comm that pings off on the wall of the hanger, and with great reluctance he presses the button so that the call can go through.

Garrett doesn’t sound particularly pleased when he asks, “so you lost it?”

“I didn’t-“ he starts then stops, no use talking about Quinn’s inept security when the other man could hear them, and any of his words might lose their chance at making future sales, “it escaped.”

Garrett just tsks.

“I could pursue it,” he speaks back into the comm, frustration at having let the 084 slip away from them causing his hand to shake over the buzzer.

“That won’t be necessary,” Garrett’s voice comes crackling back over the comm, “I put a tracker on it, once the damned thing lands I’ll send in an extraction team.”

\---

“No, you are completely wrong,” she insists over the sound of the radio, turned way up because he had tried to drown her out a moment before by playing with the radio dials without any success, a little music was not going to stop her from correcting somebody’s enviously deranged science, “the universal constant would require-“

“Excuse me, since when did you become an expert on astrophysics,” he replies back, “last time I checked you were a biologist.”

And yes, technically she was, but she’s read a lot, far more than any normal person would, and really last time Jemma checked he was a mechanical engineer, not an astrophysicist.

She’s about to tell him just that, eyes looking away from the road for a brief moment to glare at him, when she sees it, barely there in the corner of her eye, her headlights flashing on something that seems to be falling towards the middle of the road.

“Bloody hell,” he exclaims at the same time she says, “oh my god,” and quickly swerves the car to the side of the road, though not before there’s a very distinct feeling of something bumping into it with enough force to jolt the car to the side – she could have sworn for a second that is was a person standing there, but they’re in the middle of nowhere at two in the morning, there’s no way that somebody could have just appeared out of thin air.

Because that was exactly what had happened – it had appeared out of nowhere, falling like a bird, but significantly bigger than any bird she had ever heard of.

Her heart’s pounding too hard in her chest, and the force she slams the brakes with causes both of them to jerk forward, caught only by their seat belts, but at least they’re alive.

The same can’t be said for whatever it was that she hit with her car.

“What the hell was that,” he asks.

“I’m not sure,” she replies breathless.

He leans forward, tilting the mirror so that he can look out the back window, though her brake lights don’t do much to illuminate whatever it was.

“I think you killed it,” he announces.

“What?”

She turns around in her seat trying to get a view of whatever it is back there, but she can’t make much of anything else.

“Well, you hit it, so if it’s dead then-“

“I didn’t hit it,” Jemma hisses back at him, “I don’t think I did – it fell out of the sky and hit my car!”

“Right of course, let’s stick to that story, I’m sure the police will understand,” he replies, before picking up a mocking feminine tone of voice and saying, “oh no officers, you don’t understand, it fell from the sky and just  _happened_ to land on my car’s fender.”

“Oh, shut up, Fitz,” she says while getting out to investigate what exactly it was that fell on her car.

He follows her a second later with a huff, she doesn’t miss his mumble of, “this is the start of a horror movie, Jemma, I can feel it,” choosing to ignore him and hurry down the dark road, her only source of light, being the display of her phone.

“Please don’t be dead,” Jemma all but begs of the figure lying on the road.

Normally this would be the point where Fitz would have retorted something back at her about how wishing isn’t going to get them anywhere, but he seems to have fallen silent, just as she has, when the light from her phone’s display illuminates the figure on the ground.

The young woman seems to have no signs of having been hit at all, looks almost as though she’d simply been sleeping, the only hint Jemma has that her car collided with the woman on the ground is the dent in her fender and the rip on the blue jumpsuit that she was wearing. She doesn’t appear to be moving, though as Jemma crouches down, ignoring Fitz’s warning remarks, and feels for a pulse along the woman’s neck, she feels one ever so faintly.

“She’s alive,” Jemma says in amazement, not entirely understanding what exactly is happening.

There’s no way to explain what is going on in front of her.

There’s no way somebody who has been hit by a car should show no signs of injury or even be alive.

“We need to take her to the hospital,” Jemma says suddenly straightening back up.

“Are you absolutely mental? You can’t just show up at the hospital and be like: here is this woman that I hit with my car!”

“We can’t just leave her here?”

“Why not,” Fitz asks, “I mean, she’s probably some sort of criminal judging by the outfit, and who in their right mind is out at this time of night-“

“We were,” she points out.

“That’s not the point,” he insists, “look, I’ve seen these sorts of things in the movies, and it never ends well for the two people that happen to find the creepy demon or serial killer.”

“I don’t think-“

“I have not gotten my PhD just so I can be the first person killed off at the start of a horror movie!”

“Oh Fitz,” she teases, “you won’t be the first, I’m closer to her body, after all.”

“Jemma this is not a time for jokes! I really think- Stop laughing! You’re absolutely terrible! I hope you know that!”

“If we end up dead you can blame me,” she tells him with a little laugh.

“I will spend my entire afterlife haunting you.”

“Sounds brilliant. Now help me get her in the car.”

\---

She had been spiraling out of control, plummeting towards an unmarked planet, crashing past satellites and into restricted airspace. She could see the stars painted on the back of her eyelids when she blacked out, the pressure building up into something that was far too much.

If that had been the end she would have easily welcomed it.

Except it wasn’t the end.

Her whole body burned, the way it did when it was healing itself.

Light hit against her eyes when they cracked open ever so slightly, not a blinding light like that of a medical room, but rather a soft yellow glow, as though somebody was cupping their hands around a firebug and letting little bits of light escape into the surroundings.

When she blinked her eyes once more to fully open them, she made certain to examine her surroundings.

She was in a chamber of sorts, the surface she had been laying upon stuck to her exposed skin as she stood up, but it was plush and comforting. There were clothes that had been draped over her, soft furs that fell to the floor as she rose from her temporary bed.

The light she had seen before came from some sort of antiquated lamp set off in the corner, with a titled shade.

It appeared as though she was in somebody’s domicile, the assumption proving to be truthful when she noticed a life form curled up on a chair. It appeared to be female, though she was not the type to make assumptions, with red-brown hair falling about it in disarray and soft pink lips letting out small breaths every few moments.

The life form was clearly anthropomorphic, which meant that it should be easy enough for the 084 to blend in on this planet.

Her fingers reached out to give the life form an experimental touch, only to jerk back as it seemed to come awake, bright eyes flashing open at once and meeting her own.

Their eyes remain locked for a moment, and she expects any second for her programming to take over, that she will want nothing more than to destroy the strange creature before her, and yet staring into its eyes she seems to realize that she cannot do that.

There is something fascinating about this life form.

Something that stops her.

“What are you,” she asks of it.

The life form blinks back at her, its eyebrows coming together, the expression so completely confused, “what are you?”

The question is an echo of her own, and for a second she worries that the life form is unintelligent or does not understand the language. That is until the life form nods once and says, “oh, you mean-“ then it nods again and, “I’m Jemma, but you didn’t - oh you must be so confused! You can sit down if you want I’ll get you water or a snack or something. I can-“

“Jemma, what’s going on,” comes another voice, and she turns towards the doorway where another figure standing. When their eyes meet, the new one seems to glare at her, instantly taking on a defensive position, “oi, you get away from her.”

Her analysis of both of the life forms rules them out as being non-threats, even the one that speaks abrasively towards her would be no danger at all.

And yet, she does as it asks, taking one small step away from the one called Jemma.

“Got it two steps back,” she grinned playfully at him, “though I’m pretty sure my question still stands.”

“We found you last night, well technically we hit you with our car-“

“She’s the one that hit you,” the other one informs her, “I was just an innocent bystander.”

“That’s Fitz,” Jemma explains, “he’s the worst person in the entire world, but he’s my best mate.”

So that was how it was then.

No wonder the male one had been so defensive.

She could understand. After all, many wars had been waged over mates or romance, wars that she had been nothing more than a weapon in.

“You were saying something about hover cars colliding with rockets,” Skye asks, getting back to the main point of things.

“Not exactly,” Jemma huffs, “cause you didn’t have a car or a rocket or anything, I swear you just fell from the sky and hit us, but Fitz thinks it’s the other way around – I guess that doesn’t matter though. And after that we took you back here to our apartment, because I wasn’t sure where else to take you and we couldn’t very well leave you lying there in the middle of the nowhere-“

“Why not?”

“That’s what I asked,” Fitz jumps in.

“Because we – or well, _I_ am a good person, who could not morally leave somebody injured alone!”

It was rare that Skye met somebody with any sort of moral compass, maybe this planet was more peaceful than those she had been to before, or maybe this one was just special.

In either case, she just gives them a small smile and says, “I suppose then I should thank you,” even though the words are so unfamiliar on her lips, “for not leaving me to die in the middle of nowhere.”

“You must have been really blacked out last night,” Fitz says to her, and while she’s not entirely certain of his meaning, she had lost consciousness during her fall, so she supposed that counted for the answer he wanted, “lost your car too then?”

“It was more of a.. ah,” she wiggles her fingers about in an attempt to describe the rocket she had stolen from Quinn’s space station, “aerial vessel,” yeah - that sounded sophisticated, “didn’t exactly survive the crash, so I can’t say it was a good one, but you know how those can be?”

She had been expecting them both to accept this explanation as easily as they had accepted everything else, but they both freeze up at once.

Some sort of silent communication goes on between the two life forms, before the male one speaks up, “I’m sorry, where did you say you were from again?”

She hadn’t but now she answers, “delta quadrant, planet 616, locale 8-“

“What?”

Clearly they were not up to date on the Federation’s standards for planetary location.

Which either meant that they were of low intelligent, which she highly doubted, or this planet was more isolated than she had thought.

So in the end she simply settles for, “space,” as an answer.

It certainly had the desired effect, because they both moved back at once, and Fitz asks, “like an alien?”

“I prefer intergalactic badass, but alien works.”

“But you look so human.”

“Is that what your kind are called then? Humans,” she says trying out the word.

He nods once.

“I have never met a human before, and I am assuming you have never met somebody not from your planet before?”

They both shook their heads this time.

“Huh. Well, welcome to interplanetary contact one-oh-one.”

“Do you have a name or something, on your planet,” Jemma asks, “something we could call you.”

“Most call me the 084,” she explains, showing the numbers that had been tattooed onto her wrist before she was even able to form cognizant thoughts.

“But that’s not your name?”

“Eh, no not really,” she tilts her head to the side, “not a proper one anyway, but it’s really no big deal. I’ve gotten used to the whole number thing actually and I-”

“Would you like one?”

\---

“You’re not supposed to name it! Naming it means getting attached and then,” he continues grumbling all the way out the door, making certain to slam it with as much force as he can manage.

He still didn’t feel entirely comfortable leaving her alone with it, but he didn’t have a choice, because he had lost the ro sham bo match to see who had to go get takeout, and since clearly pizza was off the table here he was pressing the button on the panel outside the elevator as if that will make it arrive faster.

It doesn’t, but it’s the thought that counts.

“Did Simmons bring home another one of those lab rats?”

He would insist that his lack of sleep was why he jumped so much at the sound of the other, very familiar voice. Fitz still hadn’t entirely recovered from his shock at not being alone, by time he turned around to look at where Trip was standing, giving him one of those grins that shouldn’t be as charming as they were.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Since before you walked out your door,” Trip offers, “I waved at you, but you were pretty in the zone.”

“Yeah, I’m getting takeout, or I will be if the elevator ever shows up.”

“It does that from time to time,” he jokes, before raising his eyebrows and asking, “so what’s Simmons naming now?”

“Sorry, that’s sort of classified,” Fitz tries to explain, because as much as he would like to rant and rave about all of his troubles to his extremely attractive and amazing next door neighbor, there are some things that mentioning might just make him look like a raving lunatic.

And from what Fitz could tell raving lunatic was not an attractive look on anyone.

\---

“It’s a restricted planet,” Garrett reads from the display, “the Federation has it on lock down, no outside contact, sounds like an exciting place to be.”

“She’ll destroy it then?”

“Most likely,” he agrees, which will probably get him into a bit of trouble with the higher ups, but hey it’s just business, or something like that. “Should be an exciting show, how do you feel about getting front row seats?”

“I thought the plan was to extract the 084 and arrange a resale with Quinn-“

“Plan’s change, boy, learn to live with the excitement.”

\---

Jemma’s in the middle of shoveling noodles into her mouth when it hits her, “what if we called you, Skye, since that’s what you fell from?”

“I told you not to name it,” Fitz mumbles into his own noodles.

But she ignores him in favor of watching to see, her reaction.

The alien seems to be deep in concentration over the name, her dark eyes meeting Jemma’s and holding them for what almost seems like a moment too long before she smiles, “Skye. Yeah, I could get used to that.”

\---

“You can stay here tonight,” Jemma tells her, while setting up the couch so that she can sleep on it again, “and as long as you need really. Fitz and I just stick to our research, and we don’t really mind the company, or at least I don’t, as long as you don’t make too much of a mess you can stay here until you figure out how to phone home or whatever it is you need to do to get back to your kind.”

“Phone home? Really that’s the best you could come up with?”

“It’s from ET - which is a movie- which, really this would take far too long to explain.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Great, that’s – that’s great,” she seems like she wants to say something more than that, but she doesn’t. She just sighs softly and says, “well, goodnight, Skye.”

It takes her a second to realize, she’s being spoken to, this name thing still a completely new concept to her, but she finds it in her to smile back just in time and replies, “goodnight, Jemma.”

She doesn’t feel like sleeping, but she evens her breathing out as she lays on the couch in an attempt to stimulate some sort of meditation.

Her thoughts are a cluttered mess for the first time in all of her existence, and interestingly enough the first thought at the front of her mind is neither to destroy nor to escape wherever she is.

Rather she feels content and confused at the same time.

When she finally closes her eyes, reluctantly giving in to rest and meditation, the last thought she has is an echo of a voice saying _Skye_.

She can’t help herself from liking the sound of it.

\---

There wasn’t any how to manual that she could find, that would explain to her what to do now that she’s found herself in possession of something so completely alien.

Her first thought might have been to contact some sort of authorities, but where to even begin in that case had left her entirely stumped, plus there was an almost childish feeling of _finders keepers_ when it came to Skye.

Shouldn’t Jemma, as the one that discovered her, be the first one allowed to research her?

Yeah, that sounded about right.

It was also the excuse she gave herself, when at seven in the morning, after pulling an all-nighter, she was doing her best not to spill her coffee all over her nightclothes. It was generally unsuccessful. Apparently hours looking up statistics on ufos and alien abductions, along with watching abridged versions of various alien horror movies (the links of which had been graciously sent to her by Fitz), was not conducive to a clear state of mind. Who knew?

“What’s that,” comes a crystal clear voice, and Jemma figures the only reason she didn’t violently startle was that she’s still half-asleep.

Of course, being half-asleep isn’t the best way to converse with normal humans, let alone aliens, so it’s no wonder that her only answer comes in the form of some strange mumble.

Skye seems to understand it though, because she clarifies her question, “the drink thing that you’re making? It smells like,” she seems to be searching for some sort of way to describe it, but coming up blank, eventually she settles on, “really good.”

“Oh, that,” Jemma says, setting her mug down, “it’s coffee, normally I’d make tea but I’m a bit tired,” a bit was putting it lightly, “and coffee has that extra boost of energy that I really need right now.”

“Could I try some?”

“Of course!”

Jemma quickly busies herself in pouring out another mug of coffee, and presses it into Skye’s hand. There’s a moment where Skye seems to awkwardly stare down into the mug as if uncertain of what to do with it, and Jemma quickly takes a sip of her own mug ignoring the scalding heat, in order to show Skye how it works.

It’s not too long after that that she mirrors the action, though when she pulls back from the cup a look of disgust seems to cross her face.

“I probably should have mentioned that it was a bit bitter, especially for first timers,” Jemma finds herself laughing, even though it’s highly inappropriate.

“Just a _bit_ ,” Skye replies, “and you actually like this?”

“It’s an acquired taste,” Jemma admits, “some people put milk in it or sugar to sweeten it. I know Fitz normally dumps a spoonful of sugar into his.”

“Please tell me that makes this vaguely drinkable, because at this point I’m willing to write your whole species off as deranged?”

“Some say so,” she laughs lightly at that, “coffee’s complicated, everybody seems to take theirs differently, or get different beans-“

“Beans?”

“That’s what it’s made from. Maybe I should start from the beginning?”

Skye seems to agree to that, and soon enough Jemma finds herself giving the world history of coffee to somebody who is actually listening intently to her as though every word she says is completely fascinating and captivating.

It seems silly how happy it makes her, to just be able to talk to somebody.

To have a conversation that doesn’t end in some sort of debate.

Or the other person falling asleep on her.

Or both.

She’s so caught up in her conversation with Skye, that she barely even notices when Fitz stumbles out of his room in the middle of their conversation, still dressed in his pajamas, and grabs a cup of coffee – her only indication of him passing through is the curse he lets out after accidentally spilling coffee on his hand and his little remark of, “she still here?”

\---

“I’m going to show Skye around the island, do you want to come?”

“No,” Fitz calls back at the closed door with all the force he can manage, but he still reluctantly puts down what he had been tinkering with and opens the door.

Jemma was waiting on the other side, not even seeming to be bothered by his initial retort, she really knew him far too well. She tossed his windbreaker at him as soon as the door was opened, and says, “go put your shoes on, party pooper,” without even letting him speak up.

The fact of the matter was, he really didn’t want to show Skye around, he would much rather spend the day working on his inventions, but the thought of letting Jemma do it alone was even worse.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her to stay safe.

It was just that he didn’t trust their latest companion in the slightest.

Also he didn't trust her to stay safe.

Jemma had a habit of accidentally injuring herself from time to time.

He was really just being a good friend and looking after her.

Plus why Skye may have claimed to be an alien, but Fitz had yet to see any sort of proof of that.

His money was still on crazy serial killer.

“Prepared to be bored out of your mind,” Fitz tells Skye, as he shoves on his shoes, “Jemma is the world’s worst tour guide and we happen to live in one of the most _boring_ places in the world.”

“That’s not true,” Jemma interjects, “the second part, at least. I’m not foolish enough to deny the other part, not when I’m relatively certain you have video proof my failings.”

“The island’s pretty boring,” Fitz says, though he gives her a teasing grin, unwilling to admit or deny his possession of said video, “we’re far enough from the big cities that it’s supposed to be relaxing or something, but let me tell you it’s just awful. Especially in the winter when everything freezes and you can’t get a boat to the mainland, even if you wanted to.”

“Usually Fitz just ends up calling in to cancel his classes,” Jemma explains, “whereas other, better, people, like me, use telecommunication to-“

He groans, because the last thing he needs is another one of Jemma’s lectures on how he ought to be teaching his classes.

It’s not like the university they worked for even seemed to care if he was actually teaching or not, they just needed the professor status to keep them on staff and get the benefits of their research.

That was why getting an apartment slightly off the coast had been a perfect plan for them, it gave him the solitude to work on his research and not have to deal with other people unless he really wanted to.

Today was apparently the exception to the rule, because he was being forced to listen to Jemma’s explanation to Skye about their work and having the summer off, none of which the alien showed any sign of understanding while he waited for the elevator to take its sweet time and finally show up.

The pain is only slightly alleviated when somebody decides to join their waiting for the elevator party.

But as Trip is quickly introduced to Skye (the alien bit thankfully left out) and he seems to take to her with his usual bright smile and ball of energy, Fitz came to the realization that out of his group of friends he is the only one that would actually survive in a horror movie.

He doesn’t even bother hiding his relief, saying “oh thank god,” when the elevator finally shows up and quickly pressing the button that will take them downstairs.

The only person that seems to notice his displeasure is Trip who asks, “bad night?”

“You have _no_ idea.”

\---

This would have been so much easier if the damned thing had managed to crash land in the water surrounding them, then it would have just sunk to the bottom, and he could have retrieved it so much easier.

Garrett’s never that lucky though.

At least, it was relatively easy to track down.

He had been expecting to follow the path of destruction and look for the creature at its center, and instead he was on some outpost on a completely boring planet, watching the 084 look like what appeared to be small talk with two of this planet’s inhabitants.

Though the notion of that was completely absurd, because something like that couldn’t make small talk. The only time it ever seemed willing to communicate in the past had been to hiss insults or when it was trying to manipulate people.

“What is it doing,” Ward asks, clearly as confused by this turn of events as he is.

“Not destroying anything,” he muses, “crash landing might have left it concussed,” which meant he might need to pay for medical bills to make sure the 084 was in proper working order, unless he could convince Quinn to buy it as is.

“Perhaps it doesn’t know how to function without orders,” Ward muses.

He shrugs his shoulders, it doesn’t really matter why the 084 isn’t destroying anything, and while it is curious – curiosity doesn’t make him money, dealing in weapons does.

“Might as well get it over with,” he says, bringing his gun up to aim at the 084, while it is blissfully unaware.

Though his motion must cause a ripple through the air or something, because at once it’s eyes snap away from its conversation to meet his, before flickering away as she moves to stand so that one of the planet’s inhabitants is in his line of fire instead of her.

Being discreet may have been part of the plan, but a little bit of collateral damage never hurt anybody, so he doesn’t bother to lower the gun.

“You can’t shoot them,” Ward interjects, reaching forward to snatch the gun out of his hand.

A ballsy move, and not one that he approves of in the slightest, but he had to give the kid credit for his quick reflexes.

“Why not?”

“Did you not read any of the briefings I made,” he asks, before realizing what a dumb question that is and explains, “the reason this planet is under restricted access is that it’s the habitat for an endangered species!”

Sounds like a load of nonsense, but also like the sort of nonsense that the Federation would come up with.

Which makes this job ten times more difficult than it needs to be, because as much as Garrett likes giving the finger to the federation as often as possible, he’d rather not have to deal with the paperwork that could result from this.

“You’re telling me those,” _humans_ , “things, are endangered?”

“No-“

“Then give me my damn gun back.”

“They’re the food source of the endangered species,” Ward continues, having done his best to ignore Garrett’s outburst and clutched the gun close to his chest protectively to keep it away from the other man.

“They’re what now?”

“Mosquitoes! They’re the food source for the mosquitoes! Which, need I remind you, are an endangered species!”

“I should really just fire you.”

\---

She has the acute feeling that she’s being watched.

It is a feeling that she’s rather familiar with, but not one that she particularly enjoys.

She’s just thankful that when she says, “we should get out of here or something,” neither of her two human companions find any reason to complain about the development.

\---

“Alright Wonder Boy, what’s your plan then, since apparently I can’t just blow this place to bits,” Garrett asks, as they follow the group as they retreat into some building, only stopping when the door bars them from entrance, demanding a passcode that they do not have access to.

“Undercover,” Ward offers, clarifying, “just me,” when he sees Garrett’s grimace, “I play nice with her little earthling friends, get one of them to trust me enough to let me up there,” his eyes flicker up to the window where he can see the 084 talking with its human companions.

“And you think that’ll work?”

“Of course,” he grins, “I’m everybody’s type.”

\---

“You’re really an alien then,” Fitz says squinting at her, “from outer space?”

He doesn’t believe her, she can tell that much just from looking at him.

Even had she not, the hushed conversations he has with Jemma when he thinks she can’t hear would have told Skye everything she had needed to know.

He didn’t think she was alien, but rather somebody who was planning to murder them in their sleep and steal everything they owned.

Which she had technically thought of, though that was more the programming than anything else, and for some reason she always felt as though she wouldn’t be able to carry out the action, at least as far as Jemma was concerned.

She could probably kill the other one without feeling anything from it, but Jemma liked him and he was mildly entertaining so he continued to live.

She kept her smile tight, not to betray her thoughts of smothering him in the night, before answering, “really really.”

“You don’t exactly look alien?”

She instantly feels defensive at his words, the similarity to what Miles had said to her light years away comes back and she all but hisses, “and what should I look like?”

“Well for starters-“

“Ignore him,” Jemma cuts in, suddenly seeming to notice that their conversation has taken a turn for the worse, “he’s a bit obsessed with Star Wars and is disappointed that-“

“What do you know about the Star Wars,” Skye finds herself interrupting.

There’s a feeling of dread that overcomes her then, because she’d thought that this planet was too isolated, that they wouldn’t know about the actions of the Federation. If they knew about the war than they might know her involvement. Then what would happen to her? The very thought of any possible answer to that made her feel sick to her stomach.

Though the feeling dissipates slightly when Fitz drops his serious face and says in a booming tone of voice, “a long time ago in a galaxy far far away,” stopping only when Jemma tosses a pillow at him.

“See, total dork,” she says with a laugh, before turning back to Skye, “the only _Star Wars_ we know is a movie franchise that Fitz is _slightly_ obsessed with, mostly because he has a thing for Harrison Ford-“

“I do not!”

“The poster in your bedroom says otherwise,” Jemma practically sings.

“That does not-“

“It does so!”

“A movie franchise,” Skye echoes Jemma’s words. She wasn’t exactly certain what it meant, but she remembered Jemma explaining movies before and with her superior intelligence it doesn’t take long for her to put two and two together. “So it’s not real, as far as you know?”

“Exactly.”

“We could watch them? For scientific purposes,” Fitz adds, looking a bit too hopefully.

“As long as you don’t spend the entire movie swooning over Han Solo-“

“I do not _swoon._ ”

“He totally does,” Jemma tells Skye, “just wait and see.”

\---

“Lightsabers? Really that’s the most imaginative thing you lot could have come up with? It looks like a giant glow stick.”

“It’s a beam of pure plasma that-”

“Please save me from the nerdy explanation. I don’t think I care bear it. How do you put up with him?”

“I learned to tune him out years ago,” Jemma offers with a coy grin.

"Hey!"

\---

In her plans for keeping an alien as a resident of her apartment Jemma had failed to figure in the fact that Skye would eventually need to wear something that actually fit her.

The jumpsuit that she had shown up in was out of the question, and she was a bit taller than Jemma which meant everything she had been dressing Skye in so far were things she had stolen from Fitz over the years. While Skye didn’t mind in the slightest that the shirts Jemma had lent her all fit loosely and said things like _‘University of Rhode Island Engineering Department’_ or ‘ _Robots can feel too’_ , she could tell that Fitz was quickly recognizing that it was his wardrobe clothing their companion.

Which was why over breakfast she had decided to solve this problem, “we should go shopping.”

“Not it,” Fitz quickly says.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Jemma says, point her spoon at him.

“Good,” he says, “because I like my things just as they are.”

“I was talking to Skye,” Jemma says, fixing her gaze on their rather quite companion, “I thought you might like something else to wear? I know a few really great shops and we could make a day of it. I’m not really certain how they do things on your planet, but it’s a big stereotype here that girls love to shop and while I wouldn’t say that I _love_ it - I mean, I always appreciate an excuse to try things on and-”

“Yeah, I’d be down,” Skye says cutting her off.

“Great,” she beams, “that sounds great.”

“Great,” Skye echoes.

After that breakfast seems to go swimmingly, but maybe Jemma’s just a bit too excited about everything.

She’s never really had a female friend before, and while technically a stranded alien didn’t count as having a real friend, it was something better than having to drag Fitz along.

He was her oldest and best friend, but there were some roles he just couldn’t fill.

Like shopping buddy.

He was a terrible shopping buddy.

He was also terrible when it came to getting manicures, gossiping about celebrities, or watching those cheesy rom coms, but she had been willing to accept that she was never going to find somebody to fill that role.

Shopping though, that was something she could fix.  

\---

She’s most certainly not getting paid enough to deal with this bullshit, not by a long shot.

That was what Fury has said in the mission brief, ‘aliens who were quite possibly going to be staging some intergalactic war off the coast of Rhode Island.'

“We better be getting a raise after all of this,” Victoria says, her fingers drumming against the dashboard of the rental car that they literally had to have transported on a ship to get here.

Her feelings are about the same, but she doesn’t bother vocalizing them.

Instead she keeps her eyes peeled for their current targets; two male figures that she had been informed were intergalactic fugitives, and one alien weapon of mass destruction disguised in the form of a young woman.

“I’m serious, Mel. If I don’t get a big enough raise to buy a new sports car at least-“

“They’re on the move,” she cuts her fellow agent off.

“Fucking finally.”

\---

“Please tell me humans don’t actually wear these things,” Skye says, holding the practically transparent top neon green top up to show Jemma, “because I may have just lost faith in your entire species?”

“This is it then, the final straw,” Jemma replies with a laugh.

“There were many final straws,” Skye replies, “but I kept forgiving them for you sake. This however is unacceptable.”

She’s trying to keep a serious tone, but it’s hard when Jemma can’t seem to keep herself from laughing, though she does bring her hands up to cover her face in an attempt to muffle the noise.

It’s actually sort of cute, not that Skye has many examples to go off of for what cute should look like, but her laugh is something altogether foreign to Skye and yet soothing, so cute seems like the right word.

“You should try it on,” Jemma insists between bursts of laughter.

She doesn’t bother holding back her grimace at the thought of it, neon green is clearly not her color, then again it’s probably not Jemma’s either, “only if you do it too.”

“Oh no no no,” she says shaking her head, “I couldn’t, really I-”

“You have to,” Skye begs, “for my sake, for my freaky alien sake.”

“Oh shush you, don’t say it like that!”

\---

“What is it doing,” he asks, stealing the binoculars away.

Really this would be so much easier if he could just shoot the damn things and leave this messed up planet in peace, but _no_.

“It looks to me like they’re shopping,” Ward says.

“Shopping,” Garrett repeats sarcastically, because while that is clearly what its physically doing that is neither the answer he wanted nor needed.

Of course, Ward doesn’t seemed to realize that he’s being sarcastic and instead continues talking, “it’s actually a common event that females of many different species participate in as a form of bonding. My sister used to do it often with her so called ‘gal pals’ it seems as though for them-”

“And I stopped caring,” Garrett says briskly, shutting him up by shoving the binoculars back into his hands. “More important question, how long until the 084 starts trying to burn the place down?”

“Actually from my readings it shows no signs of aggression-”

“Do I really need a sign for you to understand when a question is rhetorical or not?”

“I don’t-”

“That one was rhetorical,” he cuts him off, “actually just assume all questions from here on out are rhetorical unless explicitly stated otherwise.”

He fixes his glare at the figure of the 084 being social with the human.

“Sir-“

“No, whatever it is the answer is no.”

“I don’t think that’s the answer you want to give.”

Once they finish this mission Garrett is really going to need to go find a new assistant, one less troublesome, who just sits there and does what he’s told.

However, for now he’s stuck with this one, so he forces his gaze away from the 084 and instead following Ward’s line of sight.

“Who are they?”

He’s met with silence, which was unexpected, and it takes Garrett a second to connect the dots and add, “not rhetorical.”

At least, Ward doesn’t delay in responding to that, “I’m not exactly sure, running their faces through the Federation’s databases now, but they’ve been watching us for a while now.”

He narrows his eyes at the two women watching them, he’s been in this business long enough to tell when somebody was going to make his job more difficult. These two are a clear sign of that, dressed far sharper than the other inhabitants of this pitiful planet that he had encountered so far.

If they weren’t on the Federation’s wave-lengths yet then they were at least some form of local law enforcement.

Law enforcement never took kind to Garrett, no matter what planet they were on.

“They’re coming this way,” Ward points out, just as he sees the two women begin to make their move this way.

They would just have to find another time to get the 084 back, in the meantime, “we’re moving out then.”

\---

“Hey, isn’t that their little roommate,” Garrett asks, once they've made their escape, watching as the vaguely familiar human tucks his hands into his pockets and moves past their new hiding space.

When he doesn’t answer right away, Garrett turns to Ward with an expectant look.

"Was that one not rhetorical either?”

\---

“I’m going to kill them,” Fitz mutters under his breath, “actually murder them. Both of them. Honestly, because what sort of sick person just puts an empty milk carton back in the fridge like it’s no big deal. Excuse me, maybe on your planet you drink all the milk and then put the trash where it doesn’t belong, but here on _earth_ things go in their proper place and I just-” his quiet tirade comes to a screeching halt when in the middle of the town’s only form of supermarket he finds himself walking into a pleasantly firm object that had not previously been in his path.

Maybe pleasantly firm wasn’t the best word for it.

There was nothing particularly pleasant about walking into another person, even if the person in question did take it in stride and catch his shoulders before he could actually fall over, and even if he did have a clearly very nicely muscled chest under the thin cotton shirt he was wearing.

“You alright there,” and apparently also a very nice and deep voice, not that Fitz was a connoisseur of voices or anything but well - he knew a nice one when he heard it.

“Not usually,” Fitz says with a self-deprecating laugh, “but I’m doing pretty alright right about now.”

It takes a second before the other guy’s face folds into a sort of amused look, and he realizes just how awkward what he said must have sounded.

“I should just shut up,” Fitz says quickly, “just please ignore me and pretend I never made of fool of myself by walking into you.”

“What if I liked you walking into me?”

“Oh, oh well, uh, huh,” he says, “that certainly changes things then.”

“Does it?”

“Important questions, before we get any further, you’re not a crazy mass murder by any chance are you?”

He hopes that the other guy’s dramatic pause if more for laughs than anything else, but when he finally shakes his head and says, “not last time I checked,” Fitz won’t deny the little breath of relief that falls from his lips.

“And secondly, and most importantly, would you ever put a milk carton back in the fridge _after_ all the milk is gone?”

“No! Of course not, what sort of person does that-”

“Perfect,” he says, cutting him off, “in that case, Leopold Fitz, at your service.”

“Grant Ward, at yours.”

\---

“Fitz! We’re home! And I even brought you back cookies which is far more than you deserve but-”

“Jemma, I’m in love,” he announces cutting her off.

“Hopefully not with me,” she informs him dropping their shopping bags onto their dining room table, “because as I’ve told you before, I don’t swing that way, at all, ever, even if you bribed me with very large research grants. Alright, I might do it for the research grants but nothing short of that and only if he’s really feminine.”

“Oh shove off, I’m not talking about you.”

“I certainly hope not, because we both know-”

“Wait, you and Fitz aren’t a thing,” Skye interrupts their banter with a clearly confused tone of voice that has Jemma whipping around to her faster than what even seems humanly possible.

“No-”

“God no-”

“Why would we be a-”

“I mean it’s not like he hadn’t tried-”

“But that was many _many_ years ago and does not need to be discussed-”

“I just feel if you weren’t so embarrassed by that that we could move forward here-”

“If you weren’t completely delusional and-”

“ _I’m_ the delusional one, really Fitz-”

“Hold on, hold on,” Skye says, bringing her hands up to cover both of their mouth’s up to silence them, “you two aren’t… intimate?”

Jemma’s the one who speaks first this time, pulling herself back and away from Skye’s hand she lets out a light laugh, “oh no, of course not, we’re just really old friends who happen to live together because believe it or not living on an island isn’t exactly the cheapest thing in the world.”

“Where would you even have gotten that idea,” Fitz asks.

“You called him your mate,” Skye explains, still clearly perplexed and looking rather adorably so, not that Jemma should be focusing on the attractiveness of her alien companion at a time like this, or any time in general.

“Oh, but that,” Jemma pauses, well, certainly she could see where Skye had made the misunderstanding and since there was a good chance her first language was not even English or anything close to it she could see where the misunderstanding had come from

Jemma still hadn’t been able to figure out how exactly Skye spoke English so well, but had assumed it was similar to how the Doctor did when hanging around the TARDIS, or those characters from Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy with the ear-fish, but she hadn’t been paying too much attention during that movie and had never finished the book so the science behind it was still a bit of a mystery to her.

However, she had long since decided not to question too many things unless they actually presented her with a problem, like this language barrier was currently doing.

“We’re British,” Jemma finally says, though at Fitz’s slightly indignant cough she corrects, “or well I am, and Fitz is from the island so really I don’t see why he’s being so fussy, but uh, across the pond, mate means friend not sexual partner. Unless were talking about animals, in which it still does mean sexual partner,” the more times she said the word sexual the more it started to feel like less of a real word, so she huffs and pauses to sort out her thoughts, “I guess, what I’m trying to say is, Fitz and I are just friends. Really good friends, almost like family.”

“Just like we’re friends,” Skye questions.

And it feels silly the way the words weight on her as she answers, “yes, just like we’re friends.”

\---

He  was pretty sure that in the mess of explaining to their alien companion that him and Jemma were not in any way like _that,_ his outburst which had started it all would have been blissfully ignored.

He had apparently thought wrong, for as dinner rolled around, and by dinner he actually meant cheerios and his newly reacquired supply of milk, the topic magically resurfaced.

“Which reminds me,” Jemma says, even though their current line of conversation had nothing to do with the next words out of her mouth, “you and Trip finally stopped dancing around each other?”

It takes him a full second to process what she’s asking before he says, “uh, no not exactly,” and stares more intently into his bowl of cereal.

“Oh?”

“Actually, it’s sort of a funny story,” Fitz says, “but I met somebody else today.”

“Somebody better than the guy you’ve been obsessing over for the last three months?”

“I haven’t been obsessing!”

“You kind of have,” Jemma point out.

“No, I-”

“Last night you were talking about how he would make a fine Jedi and has the face for it,” Skye starts, clearly taking Jemma’s side, which he would have normally expected, but in this case was hardly even fair.

“Thirty minutes ago you thought Jemma and I were a thing, so your opinion doesn’t count,” he informs her, before turning to Jemma, “and yes, he’s actually pretty incredible. I mean, I think he might just be visiting the island on vacation, but for now…”

His normal eloquence was momentarily failing him, because there was no real way to describe this guy, other than like tall, dark, and handsome, and completely shaggable. 

“Does mystery guy have a name?”

“Grant Ward,” Fitz says, "I tried looking him up on facebook, but I couldn't find him."

He’s almost certain he misses it, the way out of the corner of his eye he sees Skye seem to freeze at once. It’s only when her spoon slips from her fingers, hitting the ground with a sharp sound that, that they’re forced to acknowledge her reaction.

Fitz doesn’t know much about aliens, well, not in reality, he knows a lot in theory, but Skye has yet to conform to any of the common theories, however her current reaction is so human that he really can’t believe her to be anything else.

“What did you say,” she finally says, looking like somebody had just told her that her cat got run over or that her grandmother had died.

The look was definitely not an encouraging one and didn’t make him feel particularly forthcoming in regards to information.

“Why,” he asks instead of answering her.

But that apparently is all the answer she needs, because the next second Skye is up and off the seat and heading for the door.

He finds himself shouting, “please tell me the hot guy from the supermarket is not an alien,” at her back, but gets no answer in return.

He tries not to let it bother him too much as he takes another spoonful of cereal.

\---

She squints her eyes, staring into the night sky looking for some sort of sign of what’s lurking out there waiting for her.

She had thought, almost foolishly that she might be safe here, a few days of peace, a few days without wanting to destroy anything and she had almost thought she was in the clear.

Realistically she should have known better than that.

Her fingers rub at the loose sleeves of her sweater, which did not guard her from the cold coast air nearly as well as she would have liked, as she takes stock of her surroundings.

They couldn’t be too far off.

“I know you’re out there,” she calls out, “why don’t you make this easier and come out right now. We can fight it all out and then you can leave everyone here in peace.”

She waits for an answer bouncing on her toes, though she hears nothing but her own voice echoing around the empty street in reply.

“You’ve come to take me back or whatever,” she continues, not bothered by the lack of a reply, “but I’m not going back there. I like it here. I like it here a lot. So, you can just hop back in your ship and head back to wherever it is you come from, because I’m staying here.”

Still, no answer.

Her eyes scan her surroundings once more, heightened senses listening for a sound or something, for some sort of indicator that those assholes will have heard her and learned to leave her alone.

Eventually she gives up waiting, tuckers her arms tighter into her chest to conserve her heat and heads back for the apartment door.

\---

Jemma really shouldn’t have been eavesdropping at the window, she should have just been sitting and eating her cereal like any normal person would have, but her curiosity had gotten the better of her.

And it may have seemed silly, but sitting there listening to what Skye said, made something inside of her stir.

A part of her seemed to finally realize that she wasn’t entirely alone in what she was feeling.

If Skye liked it enough here not to want to go back to her own planet, then maybe the butterflies that fluttered in Jemma’s stomach weren’t entirely wrong.

\---

A car door slams shut at the end of the road, footsteps echo across the now silent street.

No headlights shine as the car starts up, the engine stalling for a brief moment before it lurches forward and out of sight once more.

\---

“Hey, hey, hold the door,” a voice calls out, and Skye’s hand freezes, more than prepared to slam the door of the apartment complex shut behind her and keep whoever was on the outside out, however, there’s something about the voice that sounds familiar enough that she refrains from doing so.

Though her anxious glare does not leave her face, until the figure comes bounding up the steps, pulling back the hood of his sweatshirt to flash her a wide grin.

“You’re the neighbor,” she asks, unable to remember his name for the moment.

“Trip. And you’re the one staying with Fitzsimmons,” he supplies, not bothered by her defensive stance in front of the door, just takes it from her opening just enough to slip inside and shutting it tightly behind him.

“Yes,” she answers after a moment, before crossing over to the elevator and pressing the button to call it down to her.

Though even as she does so her eyes remain on Trip.

Out of all of the humans she had met, he was one of the view that she could possibly consider a threat – he was at least built like a threat, unlike the two scientists she was currently staying with. Plus there was something about him that left her a bit on edge, but that might have more to do with the fact that he had been outside during her whole spiel.

Though his calm demeanor made it seem as though he had not heard her.

She presses the elevator button once more, wondering what the holdup is.

“Pressing the button multiple times doesn’t make it come any faster,” Trip point out.

“I’ve been told,” she replies dryly, before jabbing the button again, “but you have to admit it’s a bit satisfying to press it a thousand times.”

\---

“Hey, Skye?”

“Yes?”

“Ah, I was wondering,” she starts and then stops herself, they’re having a good day out and about and she doesn’t need to ruin it by asking the questions that have been plaguing her mind since the other night, “actually never mind.”

Skye gives her a quizzical look before, “out with it squishy human,” she commands leaning over to poke Jemma in the side, as if to prove her point about the squishiness.

Jemma squeaks, jumping away at the contact.

Which was actually a normal reaction for her when it came to poking at her sides, but apparently was not a normal reaction wherever Skye was from because the alien freezes up at once, looking almost horrified before she asks, “Did I hurt you? I didn’t mean to, I forget sometimes that you’re more-”

“Ticklish?”

“Fragile,” Skye finishes, before her confused face returns.

“Not fragile, just, ticklish, it’s a human thing probably,” Jemma explains, “when people poke me in certain places I get the giggles and am all jumpy and twitchy. It’s a good thing, I think.”

“You’re so weird,” she announces after hearing the explanation.

“No I’m not! All humans are like this!”

“Correction, you’re all weird!”

“Skye!”

\---

“What’s it like on your planet,” Jemma asks, one day, shortly after introducing Skye to this wonderful new creation the humans have called _ice cream._

The question gives her such a shock that she nearly drops the delicious frozen treat, only her freakishly in tune reflexes catching her from spilling it over.

That had been the last thing Skye had been expecting to be asked, and the one thing that she didn’t really have an answer to.

After all, how was she supposed to answer that?

Telling her the truth, that she’s a lab experiment created to destroy planets might be a bit too harsh, talking about the secure facilities with their the metal walls, or the lasers and machines that had tried to destroy her on her escape out – no, none of that would work for the wide eyed and wonderful Jemma Simmons.

However, the thought of lying to her, of giving some answer that was incredible cheesy and exactly the thing she wanted to hear just felt wrong.

Skye didn’t spend too much time wondering where her sudden moral compass came from and instead took another bite of her snack, giving an excuse for her lack of answer.

Though she should have known better than to assume that would deter Jemma, because even as Skye finished her ice cream that human continued to sit there, the picture of patience waiting for Skye to say something.

In the end she settles for, “spacey,” which is not particularly descriptive, “I just- planets are boring,” that felt more like the truth, “what’s really interesting is space! Flying through it,” _in illegally obtained spacecrafts_ , “nothing compares to that.”

\---

“Would you mind if I ran some tests on your alien blood,” Jemma asks one day in a rush, the word spilling out so fast that she cannot even be sure if she’s even understood, but she had a feeling that if she didn’t ask soon she would probably explode with the everlasting battle between ‘her need to know about aliens’ and ‘her anxiety over asking something that is far too forward.’

She has a feeling she’s probably going need to repeat that slowed down about a million times, but Skye just nods her head once and says, “sure.”

“Sure? I mean, are you sure that you’re sure,” she pauses, “the more I say that the less it sounds like a word.”

Skye nods again, “I wasn’t about to tell you that you sounded insane, but you know-”

“I’m insane? Oh, that’s news, terrible news really.”

“More like mad scientist,” Skye corrects, making a square with  her fingers to frame Jemma and squinting through it, “yeah, definitely mad scientist.”

“And I suppose you have plenty of experience when it comes to mad scientists?”

Skye just shrugs her shoulders, with a mischievous grin, “though most aren’t as cute as you.”

\---

It’s planned to precision the way he just so happens to be there when the earthling is about to go out, insisting that since they bumped into each other again (not literally this time) that he really must allow Ward to take him out to coffee.

Thankfully humans don’t seem to need much persuading, it’s refreshing, especially when compared to some of the creatures and species he had dealt with on other planets.

Also their drink of choice, this coffee thing, was surprisingly good.

Maybe humans were good for something other than just being food for an endangered species.

“My roommate’s friend seems to think I shouldn’t trust you,” Fitz tells him over coffee.

This could be quite worrying, the 084 was known to be a master of manipulation, which certain had a hand in her escape and if she was turning Fitz against him this might make recapturing her even harder. Still, he keeps his smile as bright and beaming as ever, thinks briefly of assignments that had been ten times harder than this little thing and asks, “why’s that?”

“Well, she never said,” he explains, “actually she never said not to trust you, just made this really odd face and- ha, well this is going to sound crazy.”

“I’m sure it’s not,” Ward insists.

“You’re not- ugh, god, I can’t believe I’m asking this, but honestly - you’re not an alien are you? Or a serial killer? Or an alien serial killer?”

“Alien serial killer,” he repeats, trying for surprised and glad that all that time he’d spent with Garret had made him a decent liar, “I almost want to take back the not going to sound crazy thing.”

“I’m sorry she’s bloody mental, honestly, I don’t know why Jemma puts up with her,” Fitz rambles nervous now and right where Ward wants him to be in order to get information out of him.

“That bad?”

“You have no idea,” he insists, ironically, because Ward has probably more of an idea of the 084’s ‘badness’ than this little human does.

Still, information is information, “enlighten me?”

\---

“You’re really quite fascinating from a scientific point of view,” she tells Skye, “physically you look as human as Fitz or I, but biologically you’re completely different.”

“Fascinating,” Skye repeats the word with a hint of mirth in her voice, “you know nobody has ever called me fascinating before.”

“Really?”

“Nope, normally all I get is troublesome or monstrous or difficult or probably a serial killer,” when she says the last option though it’s with a horrible imitation of Fitz’s accent, and Jemma cannot help herself from chuckling light at Skye’s pitiful attempt.

There’s a million other words Jemma could have used to describe Sky:, amazing, beautiful, the best thing that has happened to her this summer (if not her entire life), and none of them would have been even close to the words Skye had rattled off.

“Well, that’s just absurd,” Jemma informs her.

“I know, I can never get his voice right-”

“No, not that- I mean, yes that too but- you’re not trouble or a monster, though actually I could kind of see difficult.”

“Ouch.”

“But,” and Jemma knows she must stress this part, “as far as I’m concerned, you’re fascinating.”

\---

She should have known that that feeling of bliss she had wouldn’t last for long, that something was eventually going to go wrong.

When in her entire existence had things ever gone this right?

Without something terrible being just around the corner.

This time that _something terrible_ came in the form of the intergalactic menace known as Grant Ward, that was currently trying to sneak his way into the apartment building.

“My roommates are home,” she can hear Fitz insisting from outside the apartment door, “which while I would normally be more than happy to invite you upstairs, any other day Grant.”

“Really I’m sure they won’t mind,” Ward insists, in an overly pushy manner that she’s seen first hand work on other lifeforms, but is definitely not going to work here.

She’s got her arms braced against the open window, glaring down at them, making it so she has a clear line of sight. She knows that Ward has seen her, that’s probably half the reason he’s being so pushy with Fitz, what with the way he keeps glancing up at the window as if wanting to pull out his phaser or whatever he has on him, but just barely restraining himself.

Skye hisses under her breath, and digs her fingernails into the sides of her arms to stop herself from doing anything like jumping out the window and decking him, because she’s pretty sure that’s what he wants.

She almost images she can see Garrett lurking somewhere across the street watching them, but she refuses to tear her gaze away from check.

The one bit of relief she has is that Jemma is out of the building, having swung by the store for groceries, maybe if she was lucky Jemma would be out long enough that by time she returned all of this would be _resolved_ and they would be safe to spend many more days in this newly discovered bliss.

“Some other time,” Fitz repeats.

But clearly that’s not an acceptable timeline for them, because Ward is just as insistant as ever, “come on don’t you want-”

“Hey! Asshole,” somebody shouts out of a different window, taking the words out of Skye’s mouth, “if you don’t get consent then you need to back off.”

“Yeah,” Skye joined in, glancing out the window, where on the same level as her, Trip was leaning out his window slightly to shout down at them.

“I can deal with this on my own just fine,” Fitz calls back up at them scowling.

“Hey, he was just trying to help,” Skye spoke up on Trip’s behalf which almost felt silly because all of Skye’s conversations with him in the past handful of days she’d been staying here had all been about that stupid elevator.

“I don’t need his help, or yours for that matter,” Fitz insists, ”just learn to mind your own business.”

“He doesn’t mean that,” Skye calls back, because it doesn’t take an alien super genius to see that Trip has a thing for Fitz and Fitz has one in return,or would if he wasn’t being distracted by an alien conman, thankfully though Skye is the sort of alien super genius to point it out.

“You don’t know that,” Trip replies, but it’s probably not loud enough to carry down to those standing below, however, with her advanced hearing Skye catches it easily.

“I totally do,” she insists, “he’s always talking about how much he likes your face-“

“He likes my face,” Trips repeats.

“Yeah, he wants to do like dirty things to it. I mean, technically he talks about how ‘aesthetically pleasing it is from a scientific point of view,’ but I’m ninety percent certain that’s Fitz speak for-“

“He likes my face.”

“That’s what I said?”

“Can you stop shouting about my sex life, or lack thereof, out the windows,” Fitz yells back at them, “it’s really neither of your businesses, whether or not Grant and I- Why are you holding a gun?”

The cut off of Fitz’s rant clues her in almost as soon as she catches the light of the sun glinting off the phaser in Ward’s hand, and because she doesn’t have time to wait for an elevator that will probably fail to appear she does the most logical thing in this situation, which is to jump out of a fourth floor window and put as much space between him and Fitz as possible.

She would have taken the sort of awed, “holy shit,” that she distantly hears in the background as a compliment, had it not been for the billions of alarms going off inside her head telling her that the threat needed to be eliminated at all costs.

“You need to back off,” she tells him, the phaser not even worrying her, in the time it would take Ward to fire it she could have it out of his hand, and she’s pretty sure he knows that.

If nothing else those guys had been knowledgeable about the power she possessed.

It's not Ward that answers her, but rather another.

“I don’t think so missy.”

“I was wondering where you were lurking around.”

And he grins with that cat-like grin that she’d learned to hate while sitting inside of a cell, she really wants to wipe that grin off his face, right now, in front of the small crowd that has begun to gather about deciding to see what the commotion is about. Maybe that would teach him a lesson not to mess with her again, or kill him, and then solve all of her problems anyways.

“Admit it you missed me,” Garrett says, his grin not dropping for a second.

“Not even a little bit.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you won’t be missing us for too much longer than,” Garrett says, ignoring her answer, “kid, cuff her so we can get this over with?”

“Yeah, no I don’t think so,” she says, grinning back at him, as she scans the surroundings already making plans for the best way to take them down or get out of there.

The only choice she really had left to make was whether she was going to do this the quick and painless way or the hard and extremely painful way.

One more look at Garrett’s stupid grin was enough to decide it all.

Extremely painful was definitely the way to go.

“Skye! What’s going on,” and just her luck, the moment she was ready to step up and tear these guys limb from limb would be the moment Jemma returned from the store, arms laden with grocery bags looking as innocent and wonderful as she always did.

Every instinct instead of her that had been shouting to just kill them and be done with it shut down at once at the sight of Jemma, because there was no way she was letting her she her like that.

“Ma’am you need to stand back,” one of the two women that had been lurking off to the side steps forward now, and Skye wasn’t sure how she had so foolishly labeled them as spectators before because now she could see from their stances and finely pressed suits that they were definitely something else.

“But those are my friends,” Jemma insists.

“Look, kitten, you really need to stand back, this is going to get messy and-“

“Hey, don’t speak to her like that,” Fitz snaps, saving Skye the trouble.

“They’re my friends,” Jemma repeats, and if Skye weren’t in the middle of trying to find a way to discreetly eliminate certain intergalactic menaces, she would have been proud of the way Jemma butted past the women trying to hold her back to dart over to where Skye and Fitz were standing, breezing right past Garrett and Ward as if they were not even there.

“All of you put your hands on your head,” comes another voice joining the fray, and Skye barely has to look over her shoulder to figure out who it is.

The gang’s finally all there.

“The elevator sure took its sweet time,” Skye remarks, though her eyes are still locked on Ward and Garrett.

“Somebody needs to fix that,” Trip agrees.

“Somebody needs to explain what the hell is going on here,” Fitz butts in.

“Well, I’m with SHIELD-“

“What?”

“A spy, I’m a spy, and so are they,” Trip gestures then to the two women in suits who Skye had seen before, back when she had been shopping with Jemma, “we’re the good guys, whereas this lot.”

“Also the good guys,” Garrett butts in, lying his ass off, “we’re just from outer space, come to collect some dangerous material that was accidentally dropped off here.”

“Wait, you weren’t joking about the alien thing,” Fitz hisses.

Skye shrugs her shoulders, unable to answer his questions before Garrett cuts in.

“We work with the Federation of Planets, we’re just trying to take the 084-“

“Skye,” she cuts him off, “my name is Skye.”

“It named itself, remarkable.”

“Actually, I named her,” Jemma says, “not that that’s really the point or anything but, oh-“

“Look I don’t care who named the damn thing, I just want my property back.”

“People aren’t property,” one of the spies points out.

“Well, she’s not technically people,” Ward counters.

“What do you mean she’s not people,” Jemma asks.

And this, this is the part than Skye didn’t want to have come out, not here not now, not with people she cared about watching.

“I mean, I already know she’s an alien or something,” Jemma continues, “but Skye’s just about as _people_ as aliens get.”

She wants to focus on the good things at the moment, the fact that Jemma is supporting her, but instead all she can focus on is the contortion of the man’s face in front of her as they lock eyes.

“She’s a monster,” he tells Jemma, but he's still looking at Skye, and speaking words she’s heard far too many times to count, “did you tell your little friends that? The truth about what you really are.”

“I’m not a monster,” she hisses back at him.

For the first time in her life, the words don’t seem like a lie.

“The 084-“

“My name is Skye,” she snaps, “it may not be the name I was born with, or what your data and charts want to call me, but that’s my name and you best figure out how to use it!”

“Or what?”

“I’ll-“

But she doesn’t get to finish that sentence, because it’s one of those spies off to the side that speaks up, one of the ones she had written off, “or we’ll be turning you in to that Federation of yours, for – what was the bounty again?”

“Forty Thousand units,” the other one answers.

“I don’t even know what the equates to earth money, but I always did like the idea of being loaded with space money, so why don’t you boys just put your hands in the air like Agent Triplett asked, so we can cuff you.”

“I don’t think so,” Garrett says, but he doesn’t get to finish his sentence, because somebody finally shuts him up without Skye having to.

It may not have been as satisfying as her getting to slap him, but watching Garrett twitch on the ground is still pretty nice.

“Mel, did you jut taze him?”

“He was annoying me.”

"You have never been hotter to me in my life," the other spy replies in an awed voice.

“Now, what about you?”

“I was just trying to save the mosquitoes,” Ward says putting his hands up without any hesitation, “they’re and endangered species and as you may not know, your planet is a protected nature habitat as we try and restore their population-“

“So you weren’t actually into me,” Fitz asks.

“I’m interested in the fact that mosquitoes use you as a food source, if that counts for anything,” he replies, while one of the agents cut him, this time without having to use their tazer, which Skye reckons is a precursor to phasers.

“So, is everybody I know either an alien or a spy?”

“I’m pretty sure our landlord is human,” Trip offers.

“Okay, great so Coulson is normal,” Fitz says sarcastically, “that’s one out of a million.”

So, that’s it then, all settled happily ever after, and for once, Skye almost believes that that could be a thing that all the awful parts of her life were just leading up to this moment where things finally turned around and she stopped being a pawn in other people’s games.

But then, the agents turn to her, and it’s almost reluctantly as the ones says, “you too, hands up.”

“You’re not serious,” Jemma butts in before Skye can say anything, “she didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Look, we’re just trying to do our jobs which means picking up these aliens and taking them back to HQ.”

“Yeah, well I’ve seen ET, and messing with the alien only ended up badly for the government people,” she insists, “or something along those lines, it was a few years ago but- but Skye’s staying here. You’re not taking her away, unless… Unless she wants to go.”

“I don’t,” Skye says, because she can hear the doubt creeping into Jemma’s voice and that is the _last_ thing that she wants.

“Those guys weren’t lying when they said she was dangerous,” Trip says, clearly trying to reason with Jemma, “I read the files, it’s like crazy levels of danger.”

“The 084 is dangerous,” Skye corrects.

“And you’re-“

“No. I’m not,” she says, “You see, the 084 was designed to destroy. That’s the problem, because now there is nothing to destroy – there’s no orders being given or intergalactic wars being fought. It’s just this every day. The most stressful thing that happens is when Jemma accidentally puts cat liver next to Fitz’s takeout in the fridge, or when the elevator takes too long to show up because it likes to stick on the third floor. Some might think that living like this would be boring, but for the first time in my entire existence I’ve found peace, something I didn’t even know was possible, and I’m not about to give that up. The 084 may have been a monster, but I’m not that creature anymore. I’m just – well, I’m just Skye, and I’m staying here with my friends, my _family.”_

Family, that’s what it was, the one thing she had been missing that she had finally found.

The one thing that made all the programming in the back of her head go silent.

“Oh Skye,” she hears Jemma whispers, and when she finally turns towards her, the look in her eyes is sad and hopefully and so beautiful that she just wants to kiss her.

So, she finally lets go of the one thing holding her back and does it.

And okay, maybe family wasn’t the best word for things, but _this,_ this was what she meant.

Everything else would just have to find a way to sort itself out. 

\---

“So, you’ll be staying then?”

“Yes, yes, for as long as you’ll have me.”

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for the fic: Like A Dying Star](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2290397) by [varjohaltija](https://archiveofourown.org/users/varjohaltija/pseuds/varjohaltija)
  * [[Podfic of] Like A Dying Star](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2390393) by [anna_unfolding](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anna_unfolding/pseuds/anna_unfolding)




End file.
